


The Truce

by rosalind25



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 13:44:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16996116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosalind25/pseuds/rosalind25
Summary: When through circumstance Guy of Gisborne does the villagers of Locksley a favour, they offer him one in return.





	The Truce

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote last year, a wee Christmas gift! Wishing a very happy festive season to you all.

“Spare no expense, Gisborne,” the sheriff had told him. “I want you to give Buckingham and Spencer a meal to remember.”

“Surely, my Lord, a banquet at the castle would suit better?” Guy had replied, hoping to avoid the task.

“Yes, yes, boring…it’s what everybody else does. I’m sure you can drum up something special….the personal touch, hmmm? See to it, dear boy. Expect us midday on Christmas Eve.”

It was that time now. Guy slumped in a chair by the fire at Locksley, warmed by its blaze. The efforts of the past days had been exhausting, though it could have been far worse if Thornton hadn’t overseen everything. Guy looked around, at the holly and ivy festooning beams and windowsills, at the minstrel tuning his lute in the corner. From the kitchen came the aroma of prepared food: succulent meats, a mix of game, geese, and partridge. Servants laid platters of bread and cheeses out on the table. He could smell the cloying spices of the wassail, in a bowl by the door. Guy didn’t care for it himself; it was Vaisey’s festive tipple, a castle tradition.

Instead, he helped himself to the mulled ale. He dipped a goblet into the barrel, shoving aside the apples bobbing about in bothersome fashion. He took a deep draught, then went to look out the window.  

The day was dark, closed in by sleet; likely it would snow by evening. No sign yet of his guests. A half hour dragged by, and another. Food was being kept warm, past its best now. The drinks, which had earlier been warm and welcoming,were now cooling. Guy scowled. It would be just like Vaisey to…

…..ah, there. Someone was coming. Guy peered through the murk, thought he saw a lone rider. He went to the door to be certain, opening it a crack, and sure enough a horse and rider approached. He closed the door again, and waited. Moments later, the thud of boots, a blast of cold air; candles guttered as the door swung open, admitting the rider.

“Who says I need fingers or toes?” grumbled Allan, peeling off his gloves. Raindrops spattering from his cloak, the candles nearest him hissing and sputtering. “Could do with some of that ale, Giz.”

“What’s happened?” Guy demanded, ignoring the request.

“Well, you know the prince’s lackey arrived a couple of days ago, right? Well, he’s still at the castle.”

“Sir Jasper,” Guy groaned. “So, he’ll be here as well?”

“Not exactly. I’m afraid there’s no good way to tell you this, but no one’s coming. Word came Buckingham and Somerset were invited to London, to dine with Prince John. The sheriff’s furious at being overlooked….”

“… it would take him days to get there…” scoffed Guy.

“Try telling Vaisey that. Anyway, he’s in a right tiz. You’re lucky you’ve been here. Because not only that, Sir Jasper’s not well enough to travel. He’s taken to his bed, demanding a physician. Only that fool Pitts got himself killed, didn’t he, and that other one, what’s his name….Blight….he’s taken himself off on holiday. So, he’s sent for you.”

“What does he expect me to do?’ snapped Guy, watching Allan dip a goblet into the barrel.

“Ah, that’s better.” Allan savoured the drop, then gulped down some more.

“Bring someone,” he went on matter-of-factly, wiping his mouth. “And I can tell you who….she’s here in Locksley, she tends to everyone hereabouts when they need it. Her name’s Matilda.”

“Fine.” Guy snatched up his cloak, not sparing a glance for the wasted feast behind him. Deep down, he’d suspected the effort would all be for nothing. That was Vaisey. “Tell me where I can find her.”

“Second cottage on the right, past the mill. Hey….” Guy was half out the door already, “what about all this?”

“Get rid of it,” snarled Guy. “I don’t care what you do with it, just have it gone by the time I get back.”

                                                 -----------------------------------------------------------------

“If anyone’s going to make this place miserable, it’s me,” ranted Vaisey. “Do you hear me? I want that jumped up, whining little toad-sucker out of here as soon as possible. So, where’s my physician Gisborne? You were supposed to bring me a healer, not…..who’s this again? The crone’s daughter?”

“The woman was out delivering a babe, my Lord,” Guy explained patiently. “The girl’s presence will make sure she gets here once its done.”

“And meanwhile I have to put up with Sir Jasper mewling away…just see to it, Gisborne. I want him quiet…I want him _out_ …..”

Guy suppressed a sigh, as the sheriff stomped away towards his quarters. He waved a guard to see the girl settled somewhere, and went about his usual tasks. He didn’t expect this or the next day to be different to any other; thus, he was never disappointed.

The afternoon dragged by. The woman – Matilda – duly arrived, spitting curses at the sheriff. But despite the affront Guy had given of nabbing her daughter, the healer seemed almost mild towards him. _Touch_ _Rosa_ _again_ , _and_ _I’ll_ _roll_ _up_ _your_ _fetid_ _little_ _balls_ _and_ _feed_ _them_ _to_ _a_ _fox_. Well, apart from her greeting, that is.

Guy hovered as Matilda examined the patient. She claimed she needed certain herbs then, and disappeared. Guy didn’t linger in Sir Jasper’s presence; he detested the man. Remembering that he hadn’t eaten, after reviewing the guard roster for the next day, and checking that the latest consignment of chests had sturdier locks than the last, Guy finally made his way to the kitchens.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

In three strides, Guy had crossed to the table, grabbing the healer’s wrist in a fierce grip.

Matilda was standing over a tray waiting to be taken up to Vaisey: his first mince pie of the season, and a jug of the spiced wassail. She stared defiantly up at him.

“Poison?” Guy asked, incredulous. The audacity of it astounded him. “You know what happens to Nottingham….”

“Of course I do, you clot.” Matilda rolled her eyes, then sniggered. “A little Christmas gift…for you, actually. We thought you might like Christmas off. Him, it’ll just give the gripe. He’ll be on the privy half the night, and he won’t be up for much tomorrow.”

Guy stared at her, nonplussed.

“We? Why? I don’t get it.”

Matilda held up her arm, looking pointedly at her wrist. With her other hand, she began prising his grip free. After the first two fingers, Guy released her and stood back. Why this stranger would do him a kindness, especially after he’d coerced her aid, Guy had no idea.

“Well it made no sense to us either, but Allan assured us that he had your blessing.”

“Allan,” stated Guy. It was all starting to make sense.

“He told us to think of it as a truce. So, I’m doing my bit. You filled our bellies and gave us some Christmas cheer, I figure the least we can do is give you a moment’s peace from _him_.Unless, of course….” Matilda held up a spoon smeared with paste, and wiggled it in front of his face, “you’d rather I didn’t?”

“Where’s the page?” he asked suspiciously.

“I sent him up to the other one. Told him patient first.”

“You didn’t…..?”

“No,” chortled Matilda. “That one didn’t need any help.”

Guy stared at the concoction. The temptation was too great. He scrutinised the woman a moment longer and then, with a shake of his head, turned away.

“Just don’t get caught by anyone else,” he instructed over his shoulder on the way out.

                                                 -----------------------------------------------------------------

Late Christmas Eve….a warm bath. Lavender-scented. Guy swirled the water idly, watching the brittle reflections of candle-light fragment, savouring the knowledge that at that precise moment the two most obnoxious men in the shire were bedridden in varying degrees of misery. While here, at Locksley, he was safely out of their reach.

Christmas Day….Allan arrived, to share leftovers, of which he’d saved Guy enough for a meal. A surprisingly thoughtful gift – a leather pouch for tinder and flint, for the next time Guy travelled.

During the day, more than once, a timid knock on the door which, when opened, revealed a few gingerbread biscuits wrapped in muslin, or a small pot of frumenty, left on the threshold.

Guy went into Nottingham briefly, in the evening, to take Marian a gift. When he left, it was sundown. He reined in on a rise, the castle behind him – with all its attendant misery – a hulking shadow against a flaming sky. His hand strayed to his belt, where rested the token Marian had given him: a handkerchief, which she’d embroidered with the Gisborne crest.

“You should be flattered,” she’d muttered, as he opened it. “I hate embroidery.”

The gesture had warmed him, as had the kiss she’d pressed to his cheek.

“I heard what you did for the villagers,” she’d murmured. “Thank you.”

Guy turned his back on the castle and, for a few moments, watched the amber flare of sky over Sherwood. For today, at least, he could ignore Nottingham; he could ignore duty. This was his gift…the truce.

The finest Christmas he’d had in years.

                                                    ---------------------------------------------------------

“No. No, no, nooo,” groaned Vaisey.

Clutching his stomach, he lurched from bed to privy. Just made it. After spending far longer in that stinking chamber than he ever wanted to again, Vaisey staggered back to bed, slumping untidily against its frame.

This wasn’t how it should be. This was….hell. Wan, listless, too drained to even care about who he should be making miserable.

Someone would pay, someone _must_ pay.

It must have been that imbecile Sir Jasper - bringing his blight with him into the castle. The man had no sense. Couldn’t he have stayed in London this time of year? Just this once, couldn’t he have….. _oooooh_. 

Whimpering, Vaisey crawled back under the covers, pulling them up to his chin, and fervently wished…

….fervently wished….

This was not _at_ _all_ , he thought, how Christmas was supposed to be.  

 


End file.
